Abysmal
by hyacinthian
Summary: [The Italian Job] Today was a beautiful day to die. [Character Death]


A/N: Okay, this just popped into my head. Um, there's **character death** ahead. If that's not your cuppa, please hit the back button. This is my first _Italian Job _fic, so please be courteous and keep that in mind if uncharacteristicness seems to fly out at you. And if you couldn't tell, this is from the point-of-view of **Charlie**. Just to clarify, she does love him. Because I _am _a Charlie/Stella shipper at heart.

* * *

The sun rises onto a warehouse, dismal and grey in its blandness. Its golden rays dipped around the manmade concrete structures to give a graceful presence to objects without souls. The actions seem futile, but it keeps shining. Pinks and oranges rise what seems like a few inches above the clouds. A lone man lays on the concrete of the warehouse. He watches the sunrise, awed. He has nothing else to focus on. There is only one other sight: the construction site underneath the rising entity. And he doesn't need to see rubble. It's too painful, too fresh in his mind that his life is rubble now. There's nothing left for him to return to, if he should ever return. So he enjoys the sunrise as his own heart and blood works against him, and he knows it's only a matter of time before his life will literally be over. 

It had started a month ago. He had started to receive threatening letters in the mail. He had paid them no attention. He read them, discarded them. It was a simple process. They were from Steve. And he had underestimated his old colleague. He and his wife had given him a reason for revenge. And he had gladly taken that invitation. Once the threats passed, he was convinced Steve had surrendered. Until the stalkings began.

He had been happily married to Stella Bridger, and over the course of their marriage, they had been relatively happy. And they had a daughter. And then he discovered that someone was stalking his little girl. Following her to and from school. Seeing her in school. Talking with her during recess. That had been a happening to rouse concern. So he upped their security and began to walk their daughter to and from school. And then one night, she was missing. Taken from the haven of her bed. He had wept the night they found her, lying in a field. She had been raped and stabbed. That night, he allowed a third of his heart to escape through his tears.

And then the bastard began to stalk his wife. His beautiful wife. Often he had seen her as an angel. She had been a beautiful vision in gold and ivory, and he had often counted his blessings with her. From the day they were married to the day he lost her. Truly lost her. He knew she had lost a piece of herself when their daughter had died. But they had still been together. Still been a couple in all senses of the word. And then the bastard began to follow her. Began to unravel the threads of her sanity that were left. Little by little, he unnerved her. And then, he stopped. Paused in his egotistical scheme. And she had been paranoid every day after. That was when he went to sabotage their relationship. No, their marriage.

He began to leave hints and clues alluding to an affair in their home. Yes, lingerie began to be found in the most discreet of places to insinuate sex. And lipstick. Telephone numbers. Enough to throw his paranoid wife into his frenzy. God, but he loved her. He loved her to death, and to see her like this, in pain, because of him, it nearly drove him to his death. Yet he knew the truth. He would never indulge in an affair. Not when he was practically married to Aphrodite. You couldn't go up from perfection. But she suspected. She suspected. That was when the phone calls began. Phone calls from strange women he had never heard of, never known. And it sowed the seeds of infidelity deep in the fields of her mind.

And then, one day, there had been a knock on the door. He had been in the study at the time. And she had marched in, teary-eyed, with another woman beside her. The woman had been tall, thin, and redheaded. Her lips were painted with bright red lipstick. She smiled and waved jovially at him, in an impersonal manner. He had never seen her before in his life. "Charlie, honey," she greeted with a large grin. "Is this the wife?" And he had never seen her move so fast.

Stella had run to their bedroom, grabbing a suitcase along the way. And in stereotypical fashion, she packed as she tried not to weep. She just threw random articles in her suitcase, along with her most cherished possessions. _That's what Mother always said,_ she thought. _Never marry a thief. They know how to lie all too well. _She knew the secrets her parents had tried to hide when she was young. Grabbing the necklace her father gave her, she threw it in her suitcase and shut it. She bit her lip, wrestling with her emotions. That was when she pulled off the wedding ring. She held it in her hand, causing it to imprint her skin. Clutching her suitcase in one hand and the ring in the other, she walked to the study. She threw the ring in his face. "Fuck you," she stated, coldly. And she left. That was when he wept the other third of his heart out.

And he had nothing. Nothing but his often-sought gold and it did nothing for him. It provided him material possessions, but his daughter, his wife…they were both gone. They were both casualties of a man he had once scorned. A man who had once tried to kill him. For gold. That man had nothing either. Only he loved it. A note arrived the following day in the mail. It was from him. It stated simply a location for them both to meet to settle their conflict, once and for all. It was the end all battle. He should have taken a weapon. He knew. But he was a thief, not a killer. He was one to evade, not to attack. And somehow, in the bottom of his heart, he knew he was only going because he wanted to die. He knew Steve wanted to kill him. And he didn't care this time around.

Sure enough, he met his former colleague, who demeaned him in their last bits of conversation. And then it had appeared. And he had fired it. Strangely enough, he didn't feel the metal as it lodged itself in his flesh. To add to the strangeness, he could hear the sounds of the casings dropping on the floor. And then, Steve had left. _No imagination. _

He watched the sunrise with a profound calm. He wondered if Stella would miss him. Probably not. Not after the way she thought he had treated her. He smiled weakly. Today was a beautiful day to die. And with that, the final third of his heart began to bleed out.


End file.
